


Corrupted File_Error [Runtime]

by Pantone_palette



Series: Within the Haze [1]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexuality, Boys Kissing, Delusions, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gay, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Instability, Morning After, Sharon Knowles, Tenderness, comforting emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-27 10:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pantone_palette/pseuds/Pantone_palette
Summary: After a hazy night, Tyrell's motherboard has been corrupted and lost its data. He has to pick up the pieces after a drunken night and hopefully a special someone can help.Fucking up ain't easy. He can't undo the past, but apologizing, is a good place to start.For his sake and Elliot's.__Fluff! Angst! Heartfelt emotions! Welcome to this 3 chapter fic (20+ pages).Friday night will be detailed in a separate release in the form of an epilogue.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson & Tyrell Wellick, Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick
Series: Within the Haze [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216748
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alt. version of Season 3 Ep 9. I won't say much more, other than Wellick is once again right off his mind.
> 
> He really needs to go to therapy... Aye!
> 
> Enjoy~~!
> 
> ____  
> I haven't written such a long story in a while. The first three chapters were written as one big chapter- which I have broken up for my own sake. Any/all suggestions and support are welcome.

There was a rustling of cloth that stirred up the silence of the room. Fingers zipped across a fine material, pulling a heavy cloth towards their body as they withdrew an elaborate material. Thin, elegant finger with a hairline touch pulled out a long cream cord tucked behind a bustle. They firmly wrapped it around its heavy volume and secured it tightly in place, now resting against the thick frame of the bright morning window. Their fingers zipped, tying an expert boy in the morning silence. 

The soft chirp of birds filtered into the air.

Gentle footsteps patterned around the bed, mindfully stepping as they fluttered around the room, tidying up the items in the room. The presence was soft, comfortably containing their own presence within the boundaries of its form. The thing seemed to find comfort in this, expending their energy at one steady pace. This was a thing of practice, and of principal for them.

They had a quiet confidence to them, set in their sure-fire assurance that had been built up from years of practice. 

They knew exactly what they must do, because practice, really does make perfect.

And in the chirp of early morning, there was no need to make a fuss.

Tyrell stirred, beginning to come out of the deep reaches of yet another contorted dream. It had become a regular occurrence for him, to be thrown into the hellish world of his own fears. He had grown to become resentful of himself and his dreams. 

His dreams had been reflecting back his own weakness, his own insecurities, his failures, in such a way that it rattled him. It exposed his heart fresh and bare for him to see. He could not deny himself of his emotions in his waking hours, and at night, he was at the cruelty of his own mind. He had tried to run away, using alcohol, playing tapes, even picked up meditation- and yet he felt no relief. His anger was gilded in tears, which slipped from his sleepy eyes.

In his mind’s eye, he was just a boy, ready to curl up, and wish he could die.

He could hear his father’s words drift in with a lulling echo, hazy mist handing over his mind as he floated between the layers of consciousness. The smell of a crisp fresh morning and soft turned soil lived in his shallow breathes. His small childlike eyes- crisp baby blues- watching his fathers lips part in those unforgettable words.

“so much depends  
upon

a red wheel  
barrow

glazed with rain  
water

beside the white  
chickens”

The words echoed through his mind, a sense of dread filling his nauseous stomach. 

To be but a man, who knew so little. To be but a man, who wanted nothing more than to live.  
To be but a man, who lived a meaningless life.

What does he exist for? Now that his love and his life are gone?

****

The footsteps faded as they retreated far from his room. Sunlight had begun to cast into the air, the space radiating with a warm glow. The casting light caught the stillness of the room, making the floating dust appear as fireflies, dancing in the air.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted, moving from blurry sleepiness to that of softened clarity. He could see his fine white bed stand scattered with the remnants of his emptied pockets across the wood tabletop. He reached out for his glasses and slipped on the black frames, running a hand through his thin brown hair and swooping it back.

He tossed in bed, staring up at the ceiling as a wave of pain washed over his head.

He winced as the throbbing traveled from the back of his skull to the front, before settling deep beneath his eye sockets, nuzzling themselves in what felt like an endless black cavity. The area pulsed, making him groan. 

“Shit…” He breathed horsley. The Swede rubbed his forehead, throbbing in unison with his bloodstream.

Wetness covered his fingertips, the liquid making them slick. 

Blood.

He was confused and disorientated. He rose out of bed and moved across this room to his bathroom, and began checking his face for damage. There was a deep gash above his left eyes with the blood still oozing out of the cracked wound. It slowly seeped blood and split open when he moved his face. He whipped it away with his hand, inspecting for a quizzical moment before snapping his attention back to the rest of his body.

There was more.

Tyrell shut the bathroom door and began to strip himself. He needed to search- to understand the catastrophe. His mind spun, pacing and running with obsessive thoughts.

Last night's memories were foggy, clouded by the aching haze in his head. Yesterday was- Friday. He had gone to work and had prepared himself like he always had. He woke up, left for his morning run, showered, got dressed, and ate breakfast...

But his day was… upsetting.

Fun Corp had asked him to return to the company as Senior Vice President of Technology, his former position before he suddenly left the public eye because of the 5/9 attack. He had thought, at the time, that since the public had loved him- had loved him for being this so called “hero”, fighting against F Society, that Fun Corp wanted to take him back to save their image. 

It was a vote of confidence, a display of their commitment and dedication to security. 

From what the public knew, he was a whistleblower.

And he was here to return Ev-/Fun Corp to its former glory. A newer, better version than before.

E/F/E/F/E/F/E/e?F/F/F/E?e?F?/F/F?FF?E?E?E?EE?F?F?F?//?F/F/?F?EE?E?? 

E/E?F/F/F?F?E?E?F?E/F?E?efefeF?f/efe/fe/fe/fe/fFEf/efE?Fe/fE/f/ef/ef/EF?E?FE?f?EF/ef/E?FE/fe/fe/fe/fe/fefefefeFEF/E?F?Ef/EF/E?Fe/F/e/eefF??F?F?F/F?FE//fe/?E?ef/?F?EF/e/fE?F?Ef/?E/eee/ee/f?F?E/f///ffffEF?E?f/ef?E?f/e/F/e/f/e/e/?EE?/e?F/f//f//f/e?EF//efe/f/e/f/e/?E//e/?F  
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////c?F/f/fFFffffEe?E?EeeeEF/F?F??Ee/?EE?E?E?F/F/F?F?E?E?E?E?E?E?F/F?F?F?f/?E?E?E??Ee?efeffff?F??F?e/e/e/e?F/Ff/?FF?F?F?E?EE?E?E?F/Ff/f/ff/?E/e?EEeeeeEEeFFFFFFFF??F?FF?fF?/FFffF?F?FFff/f/f/f/fF?FFFFFF/F/F??F/ee/e/ef/FfF??F?F?F?fffff/?F/F?FF?F/f//f/f/f/fF/F/F//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////ef/E?FE/fe/fe/fe/fe/fefefefeFEF/E?F?Ef/EF/E?Fe/F/e/eefF??F?F?F/F?FE//fe/?E?ef/?F?EF/e/fE?F?Ef/?E/eee/ee/f?F?E/f///ffffEF?E?f/ef?E?f/e/F/e/f/e/e/?EE?/e?F/f//f//f/e?EF//efe/f/e/f/e/?E//e/?F??F/f/fFFffffEe?E?EeeeEF/F?F??Ee/?EE?E?E?F/F/F?F?E?E?////////////////////////////////////////E?E?E?E?F/F?F?F?f/?E?E?E??Ee?efeffff?F??F?e/e/e/e?F/Ff/?FF?F?F?E?EE?E?E?F/Ff/f/ff/?E/e?EEeeeeEEeFFFFFFFF??F?FF?fF?/FFffF?F?FFff/f/f/f/fF?FFFFFF/F/F??F/ee/e/ef/FfF??F?F?F?fffff/?F/F?FF?F/f//f/f/f/fF/F/F/ef/E?FE/fe/fe/fe/fe/fefefefeFEF/E?F?Ef/EF/E?Fe/F/e/eefF??F?F?F/F?FE//fe/?E?ef/?F?EF/e/fE?F?Ef/?E/eee/ee/f?F?E/f///ffffEF////////////////////////////////////////?E?f/ef?E?f/e/F/e/f/e/e/?EE?/e?F/f//f//f/e?EF//efe/f/e/f/e/?E//e/?F??F/f/fFFffffEe?E?EeeeEF/F?F??Ee/?EE?E?E?F/F/F?F?E?E?E?E?E?E?F/F?F?F?f/?E?E?E??Ee?efeffff?F??F?e/e/e/e?F/Ff/?FF?F?F?E?EE?E?E?F/Ff/f/ff/?E/e?EEeeeeE////////////////////////////////////////EeFFFFFFFF??F?FF?fF?/FFffF?F?FFff/f/f/f/fF?FFFFFF/F/F??F/ee/e/ef/FfF??F?F?F?fffff/?F/F?FF?F/f//f/f/f/fF/F/FF/F/F/F/F/F/F/F/F/F?fFffffF?F?feeef/F/F/F/F/F/F/F/F/F/F/F?F/F Corp. Fun Corp. Fun Corp. Fun Corp.

‘Fun Corp.’

‘On your side ~!’


	2. Restore_File-Backup_[Upload]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get the gays, you gay!

….

Than why had he …?

His eyes found deep purple splotches across his body and had a yellowing afterglow under the skin. They were thick with fluid. The damaged muscles ached when he moved as he twisted and turned around in his inspection. In particular, his throat was deeply damaged, set with a heavy line of bruises wrapping around the front of his throat. His adam’s apple sent a sharp life of pain when he swallowed.

His hands grazed the sensitive flesh, massaging the sore muscles against the sensation. 

His fingers slipped across the area, a single hand covering half the mass. It was clear he had been choked.

A pierce of fear lept through him, feeling his sense of control slipping. He really was breakable, a china doll.

He sneered and gritted his teeth, sharply striking himself across the face. He mustn’t be so pathetically feeble. 

He shot a spit of blood into the sink and splashed water on his face. Wiping himself clean and giving his teeth a quick brush before studying himself in the mirror. He had a razor-like gaze.

If someone had wanted him dead, he would be.

Then why had he been left standing…?

This didn’t completely make sense. To be beaten within inches of his life and then tucked back into bed. It’s quite a display of effort for someone who wanted to off him.

He needed to know. He needed to control the situation with a hyper fixation.

He bit back his anger, glowering in the mirror as he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. It was time he took care of his body.

Suddenly, he was washed with a wave of fear and it tilted his world sideways.

He swallowed, gritting his teeth, and punched down his feelings.

This wasn’t the moment to freak out. He didn’t want to know the depths of his emotional reality. 

He turned his back to the mirror and began fingering a glass shard embedded in his shoulder. He ignored the bite in his fingers and flicked it into the sink, drawing blood from his fingers. His back was fucking littered with them. He had his own personal mosaic made just for him.

And it was something he would have liked to take care- and yet something drew his attention. 

The hum of a radio clicked on and filtered into the room. The soothing sound was soon joined with the clinking of drinking glasses sloshing in warm water, being soaped up for a caressing wash.

Tyrell’s head slowly turned to the noise, stilling as he tuned in. The tension drew out, ice creeping up his veins. 

Slowly, the realization came.

...He didn’t hire the maid for Saturdays.

He silently darted out of the bathroom and into the closet. He hooked on a pair of fresh clothes, a soft cotton white tee, and grey shorts and fixed his glasses back in place. He was ready.

He had prepared for this.

Wellick parted his hangers open, revealing a heavy gunmetal metal safe. Inside, it had just what he wanted. A Maxim 9 with a built-in silencer.

He snapped in its round.

Tyrell snaked through his bedroom door, knees low and hunkered, arms locked with the gun pointing forward. He crossed the spread of his Chelsea apartment. 

He crouched at the opening to the kitchen- a hand grazing the white wooden door frame and as he peaked his eye around the corner. There, he peered at a young man, diligently standing over a sink of bubbling water, hands deep in a pool of soaking dishes. He was quietly whittling down a stack to his left.

His bare feet shifted on the cold floor, absorbed in their work and the sound of the morning radio. The Beatles played and birdsong drifted in from an open window.

His frame was thin, built mid-height, and lanky. His clothes sat loosely off his frame and wore a simple set of clothes, a black t-shirt, and jeans. It was odd for Tyrell to see Elliot at his home. It wasn’t unlike him to arrive unannounced, or even at all because their friendship was so hot and cold. 

Mastermind didn’t give a fuck about him and at least didn’t like to admit it. It was easier for him to keep people at arm’s length. To avoid being in pain.

It was one of the reasons why Tyrell was so attracted to him. As much as he tried, he could not control Elliot. He was his own person, who refused to be manipulated and pulled by others. To hell with them and their own plans, he would spin his own.

He’d rather fight them than go along with it.

It was this core decision that drew him to Alderson. Just like him, he desired to be the one in control. In his eyes, Elliot was his equal.

If only he’d see that and admit that he was worthy. 

This stirred something inside Tyrell.

“Hej, medgug, [Hello, fellow God]” His lips whispered, eyes transfixed with a sudden psychotic glimmer. His emotions rested under a tender face, a facade that seemed to crawl across his chameleon-like skin.

Wellick was a shapeshifter, a God, a miracle. He had forced himself to become something he had barely recognized, slowly spinning out of control as he grasps for faint straws. He believed that if he could will it, than it would be. That though sheer desire and willpower, and unwavering strength, his desires will materialize before him. It was a way to conquer his own deep and fatal flaws. 

He could kill his own demons and be free from his fears.

This was all but a deep display to fool himself. To trick the mind into believing he wasn’t what he was. Rejection, rejection, rejection, would make him do crazy things. Especially when he turned his back on himself.

He thought his key was within Elliot. That somehow, he saw what he couldn’t. He was the one that opened his eyes to Dark Army, after all. He had the foresight at a time when he was blind and therefore strived to become like him, Awakened. 

Elliot the world for what it was, an arena for the Gods. And sides must be taken.

And so, Tyrell chose.

Tyrell’s decision to rejoin F Corp was a strategic move. A decision he made to try and change the world. He had reprogrammed his mind to hear Evil Corp as Fun Corp. On your side~! As a way to cope with his decision.

He has chosen to try and change Fun Corp from the inside out- to make it what it should be. A corporation that does good. 

In the process of his rewiring, his systems glitched. A wire in his soul snapped, charred and burnt from being overloaded.

It couldn’t take the heat, he wasn’t built for this.

He would push on regardless, wires a mess, and in need of soldering. 

Wellick paused and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He let the waves of his frustration wash through him. In time, the sea would settle and lap at the soft sand at sunset. His mind would ease and rest, quieting to a steady purr at the back of his mind.

It never really left him, he just learned to keep his emotions in check. 

To tether himself to the ground from his emotional elevation. 

He peered back at Alderson who had built a large stack of dishes resting on a tea towel to dry. He hadn’t noticed that Wellick was up and moving. Instead, he worked at a steady pace to the morning radio. 

As much as Tyrell hated to admit it, he had an affliction for the young man. It was something he allowed himself to accept. To bind him to this world and stop himself from losing it all.

He had already lost one person in his locked treasure chest.

In a single breath he slid the gun across the floor and under a piece of furniture, sloothily hiding it from any peering eyes.

Here, Elliot was, in all of his glory. In his own kitchen of all places.

He had been graced by Almighty’s presence. The ring keeper. 

His body moved without a thought- rising to his feet and crossing the modern, white-washed walls. He held onto his cool and collected mask, working to keep himself in check. This way, it would be easier to reach Elliot. He wanted to be, in fact, his perfection.

He shall show no weakness and no cracks.

Tyrell stood for a moment, taking in this sight. The gentle way the window above the sink cast light over his smooth olive skin. The water glimmered over his beautiful features- with his sharp jaw and plain black clothes. He could see but a sliver of reflection in the bubbling water, but enough to feel his breath taken aback. His heart fluttered.

He fixed his clothes, drawing in a deep breath before clearing his throat, trying to grab his attention.

“Bonsoir, Elliot,” He smiled through a pursed bright smile, beaming. Elliot was and still is, a sight for sore eyes. He could have gazed into those marine hues as long as possible, as long as time allowed him to. “I didn’t know you were coming over today, if I did I would have prepared,” His words were smooth, cool, and collected. 

His tongue slicked across his lips, waiting. Trying to hide his emotional insecurity. He resisted the urge to fix his clothes, a nervous tick for him. 

“Someone needed to take care of you after last night,” Alderson’s voice softly droned, sounding half exhausted, and the other beat. He was fighting through his own migraine and had been enjoying the peacefulness of the house. It was easier.

He whipped a glass clean before setting it down to dry.

There was a dishwasher, but old habits die hard. He fisted a hand of silverware and dunked it under the water as he washed it. His back was still to Tyrell.

Wellick nodded, saying, “Thank you,” before sighing and taking a seat at the island. It felt better to sit than stand. He peered around, taking in his surroundings. The apartment felt off. As if things had been e a haywire mess- and then quickly thrown back together. 

“What do you mean, ‘take care’?”

Tyrell watched Elliot, who set a clean handful of silverware down to dry. His back remained to him, silent. 

“What exactly happened last night?” He asked again.

Alderson pulled the stopper out of the sink and it drained. Taking his time before pivoting and turning towards the Swede.

Two black circles peered down at him, blinking as the beginning of swelling had started to set. They were fresh and still forming in his knuckled-brained skull.

Wellick grimaced at the sight of Alderson, which he regretted and held his gaze. A pit had begun to churn with concern. He looked miserable and ill. He thought he shouldn’t be moving around and acting as nothing had happened.

“You don’t remember?” Elliot said sounding slightly annoyed, drained, and defeated.

Tyrell shook his head, his spine crawling.

“Horseshit,” Elliot shot.

Tyrell paused, his gears began to turn. “I drank last night, I got carried away,” It was a slight cover-up. A chugging-half-a-bottle-of-vodka to-drown-your-feelings kind of cover-up.

“-’Got carried away’ my-ass,” He shook his head.

Mr. Robot materialized in the corner of the room, resting his back against the wall. Watching.

Mastermind was here to confront Wellick and piece things together. Chaos was a bitch! And he needed to make amends before things went to shit.

Tyrell shot him a soft glare, stern, “I think you of all people would understand a lapse of memory.” How many times had Elliot forgotten their plans? It seemed to be on a regular basis.

Elliot shot a look away, rolling those pretty lil’ bug eyes. 

“I came over last night to talk about Dark Army. You were belligerently drunk and angry.” He shook his head, “You were rattlin’ on about your wife and son, and how it was my fault for what had happened. That you were mad at Whiterose for making you a ‘glorified figure head’ at Evil Corp and that you wanted to die.” 

He slowly peered back, his voice softer, strained, and hurt. “...and that I deserved to 'atonement for what I did’.” Those last words hung around them, sucking the air out of their lungs.

The raid clicked in, filling their silence.

‘Here comes the sun do, do, do~  
Here comes the sun~  
And I say it's all right~’

Elliot, was, slowly, becoming what he most feared. Someone that didn’t just change lives, but end them.

He wasn’t directly at fault for Joanna being killed or Tyrell’s son being held by Dark Army. But he was the person who got Wellick involved in F Society. He was the Mastermind of this grand creation.

The chaos spinner.

He became quiet, watching Tyrell. “Because Joanna’s dead,” He paused. “And you’re working for the people who killed her.”

The color dropped from Tyrell’s body, suddenly feeling insecure and vulnerable. Like a part of himself had just curled in, desperately retreating from himself. “...What do you mean...?” His mouth hung open, grasping to find words.

As if the thought had never come to him.

At least not, this time around. This was Fun Corp after all- It wasn’t like Fun Corp and Whiterose were-

Elliot stared back at him, searching his face for clues. He wasn’t good with this kind of thing. And knew he was walking on thin ice. “You had a meeting last night with Wang Shu, Whiteroses number two at La’Appart. They scheduled the meeting as a front. One of your clients, Petrobas, a Brazilian-based petroleum company owned by the Brazilian government. They have a contract with Evil Corp.” He gulped, eyes bouncing around, thinking. “You were cornered by her and her guards,” This was the abridged version, pieced together through hacked emails and server databases.

“It was a front. She informed you that Evil Corp will be announcing your new promotion on Monday, as CTO. You will be replacing your former boss, Scott Knowles, in the ‘wake of his unfortunate suicide’,” Those were the words Shu used at the meeting. He had planted a bug in Wellick’s phone. He had been able to remote access it just in time to catch the tail end of their conversation. Enough to know things had been royally screwed up for the both of them.

Plans have changed.

“Your position at Evil Corp- it means nothing.” He tipped his head up, the next words dripping off his lips. “It’s meaningless, you know that? You’re a puppet, Evil Corp is being controlled by Whiterose.” 

He paused, raising his eyebrows with a hard look, “You’re being controlled by Whiterose. She has your child, she’ll make sure you can’t find him if you choose not to accept,” There, that will send him.

Tears started to come to Wellick’s eyes, turning red. He wanted to cave in on himself. Fracturing. “How did this happen? Why are you here?”

This was the part Elliot was hesitant to share. 

Mr. Robot lit a cigarette, letting out a dad grunt.

Elliot sighed, willing the energy for him to continue, “We met up last night to talk about Stage 3 and you were furious, unhinged.” He shook his head, rubbing his fucking beating head, “You flipped out and started beating me,” Elliot’s eyes connected with Tyrell’s, leveling with him for a moment. “You choked me, but we were able to fight you off. We had to crack a couple of wine bottles over your head to get you to stop” He paused, gulping, eyes darting for a moment. He was seeking a type of relief from this conversation. A mental reprieve. “You couldn’t stop, you were vicious,” His fist tightened, shaken and angry. 

For a moment there, last night, Elliot feared he wouldn’t be able to fight him off. That he wouldn’t wake up from this nightmare.

...That he’d be like Sharon Knowles, sucking in the last gasps of breath with her feet kicking. The bitter bite of death might finally take him and swallow him whole.

In those moments between the haze and twilight, his mind had drifted off as he floated. Robot taking over his body and the Elliot we knew clicked off in far reaches of existence. He wondered if the sum of his life would end like this- not knowing if he ever knew how to live, at all.

“I-I’m sorry- I-” Tyrell shook his head in disbelief, tears streaming down his baby blues in a waterfall. His carefully crafted world had been to shatter, spiraling with the newfound revelations.

“I don’t remember any of that, I’m so, so sorry- ” His face bloomed red, tears streaming down his eyes. “I can’t believe I did this- I can’t-”

There it was again, his deep sense of denial kicking in in overdrive. But the dream had already begun to fracture and crumble.

He had to let go or otherwise spin out into madness.

“I don’t want to hurt you like that,” Tyrell choked out. “I don’t want to believe it-” His body broke from crying, overwhelmed, “I’m so, so sorry-” His voice hicked, burying his crystal blues into the palms of his hands and sobbed, doubled up over on the cold hard table.

Elliot studied him for a moment, watching him as he poured out.

A part of Elliot hated Tyrell, for hurting him- physically, but also for his words. 

He had felt his deepest wishes become true last tonight, his demons coming out to play before him. He did all of this, F Society, 5/9, the cyberattacks, to build a better world where no one got hurt. To bring justice against Evil Corp for killing his father and countless others. 

But was it all worth it? He was becoming just like them.

Tyrell wasn’t a great guy, he really wasn’t, but good people can do bad things in a moment of darkness. What mattered is what side you were on when people wrote the history books. The victories wrote the story and made it justified.

They were all damned.

...Joanna was a casualty of war. She was his wife. And he knew what it was like to lose Shayla.

Maybe they would both say, ‘I knew a woman once, her name was Joanna. And she died because of me’.

And then neither of them would know what to say.

Maybe someone would apologize, maybe say they’re sorry for asking.

A bold one would ask Elliot, ‘Did you know her well?’ And he’d shake his head, “A passing acquaintance, a wife of a good friend,’ and they’d say their condolences. And never bring it up again.

Tyrell would probably excuse himself and ask not to talk about it. Try and hide his despair.

Mastermind wanted to hate him, to take his vengeance out on him and leave. But he saw himself in Tyrell and knew what it was like to feel deeply hurt.

So, does he choose to hate Tyrell? Himself? Or neither?

If all anger can do is repeat its cycle; of being hurt and hurting others, then there was no point to it. Nothing more than breeding it- over and over again. He didn’t want to be the very thing he rallied again. And Wellick was in great pain. Tyrell had traded power for the life of his family, and now, his happiness. It didn’t stop him from being a sick man, but he was still allowed to be human.

He was allowed to cry. 

He was allowed to express pain and feel emotions.

It was more than Elliot could do.

Alderson watched him and drew silent. For as much as he wanted to lash out and punish him, he knew he didn’t deserve it. At least not now, not in this way. 

A widow was crying and he needed help. His apologies and actions would be accepted in due time when they were healthier. He would forgive him but this would not be forgotten. There wouldn’t be a second time.

“It’s not right what you did to me,” Elliot paused, sounding raw. “But I know what you’re going through. It’s okay to feel hurt, I understand.”

“-Understand-?” Tyrell gasped, “I don’t understand any of this,” He didn’t want to.

“It’s okay to be mad,”

“-No it’s not!” Wellick flared, slamming a fist on the table, and glared up at him, defiant. “No, it’s NOT!” Tyrell was unhinged and distraught. He didn’t want to accept what had come to be because the pain was too great. That his life was worthless, at least in his eyes. He had become his father.

At least he wasn’t violent. 

“I don’t blame you for what you did. You deserve to be angry,” Wellick had lost it all. His life, his family, his reputation, and now, his pride. Elliot was his misdirection, an outlet he was channeling his misguided feelings into. He would away from his problems and end up crawling right into them.

“It’s not like you killed me,” Alderson stated, sounding half sarcastic. This got a huff out of Robot, clearly feeling otherwise.

Yeah, right kid, you weren’t the one fightin’ him.

Or smashing vintage brut’s over the Swede's head.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Tyrell sniffled, wiping tears from his face before taking a deep breath and cleared his nose. “You’re the last one I want to hurt,” He peered up at Elliot, his face crinkled. It was the pressure, the pain that drove Tyrell’s anger. He only felt love and admiration for Elliot. He wished to stand by his side, as Gods, and make this world right. 

Elliot came around the island and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He knew what it felt like to be broken.

“It’s okay, really. You weren’t in the right head, we all have our moments,” He thumbed a light pressure against his shoulder, stroking it. “I’ve done some shitty things to you too, and you’ve done some shitty things to me. Besides, we all have flaws in our system,” And his anger was one of them. It all made us tick. “I can’t delete mine like you can’t delete yours. We sometimes, just, gotta work with them, we don’t have a choice,” Because they also refused to go away. 

Unless we learned to work with ourselves, we would run from them until we returned to where it all began. On an endless loop of existence. We needed to get to the source of ourselves.

Tyrell looked up at him, “I don’t want this.”

“But you have it.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” That, drew silence from Elliot. He hadn’t really known Wellick, at least not well enough to fully quell his fears. His years of trauma and abuse made him fearful of such things, and it made him weary of trusting others. It had made him self reliant and somewhat frigged. “I’m not convinced…” And his hand slipped...

“Elliot, I love you, love you,” Again, Wellick’s tears pricked, blinking through them.

“No, you don’t,” he paused, “I don’t believe you.” This was just another game, Wellick being a crazy manipulative fuck.

Wellick nodded, reaching out and grabbing Elliot’s sides, shaking him, “I put my life on the line for you and proved it to you, time and time again. I let you put a gun to my head and pull the trigger-” He paused, eyes welling, “My Joanna, my son,” He whispered, “Everything!” It was all for the cause. Couldn’t he see? “I’ve given you my life,”

“I didn’t ask you to do that, those are your choices,” 

“Yes, for us!”

“And this is necessary?” He cut coldly, pulling his hands off of him, “I don’t trust you.”

“Everything I do is necessary,” 

“Us.. or you?” Elliot whispered.

Tyrell stood and gripped the sides of Elliot’s jaw, staring into his sauced blue eyes. “Us…” He studied him, falling silent. 

The only way to make him understand was to take a leap of faith.

Tyrell gently tipped his head down and touched his lips with his. Gentle and kind, they parted with a kind of sadness and deep heart of affection that he rarely shared. To be raw, to be vulnerable, to be human.

For him, Wellick would become a man.

Elliot flushed deeply and was pleasantly surprised. Slowly, his rigid body began to relax, clicking together the pieces in his head.

Part of the reason Wellick was so mad was because he didn’t want to hurt the person he loved. He was hiding his shame.

Quietly, Elliot smiled between those soft lips, closing his eyes and pulling Wellick closer. His mouth parted, slicking tongues together as they kissed in a deep embrace. The two curled up together, pulled together with a fury of might.

In this world, nothing made sense. They only knew what was in their hearts and quiet desires. They both tried hard to deny themselves what they really wanted. Thinking it was better this way, to guard themselves from the pain, but never really the depth of what they could have.

It was better to live and to try. To feel the revelation of living in truth and the joy of being yourself than burying it.

This was a ‘coming home’. To themselves and one another. A place where you could fuck up, say you’re sorry, and work to be a better person.

It gave them the space to grow.

Elliot softly pulled away, his face flustered in a light pink, almost chucking as he bit his lip. He hadn’t expected the kiss to be so… pure.

He felt electricity in his veins.

He flicked his eyes away as if to tuck the memory away in a treasure chest, to hold onto when he needed it most. He cherished it.

“Hey,” He whispered, flicking them up to Tyrell, lips parting in a bright smile. “Don’t let me go.”

“Jeg vil aldrig lade det ske [I’ll never let that happen],” Tyrell whispered, a thumb stroking the nook of his jaw, caressing it. “Never,” he whispered faintly, almost cooing as he shined with a beautiful smile. This was a different Tyrell. It was gentler and came from a place of center. He was selfless/

As much as he was a man who tried to do everything in his power to control the world, he equally let it all go. A simple secret, of wanting to be exactly who he is.

Love was an equalizer.

Elliot flushed, sweetly embarrassed, and smiling of all things. His rarest of expressions and one of the purest. “Thank you,” He pulled Tyrell in for a hug, embracing one another, his heart filling.

They enjoyed this sweet moment for a time, feeling the warm embrace of safety and security. Hearts beating in the comforting soothing contact.

After a time, Tyrell quietly pulled away, having a chinked look on his face. He looked bumbling for once. It was easier to comprehend now that he was wearing glasses, it somehow felt more- real? “Ah- careful, I uh, have a bunch of glass in my back,” He said awkwardly. 

The hug had pushed some of them in. He didn’t want to say anything and ruin the moment. 

“Huh?” Elliot’s eyes raised, looking concerned. “You-”

Tyrell raised a hand, pausing him. “It’s from last night, I haven’t been able to clean myself up.”

“-Let me help you,”

Tyrell paused, and nodded in the direction of a kitchen cabinet, “There’s some supplies in there. You’ll need tweezers,”

Alderson stepped away to retrieve the supplies. There was a pleasant swing to his steps, savoring the tingling feeling left on his lips. 

****

**Author's Note:**

> To next chapter -------> 1/3 (?)


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